Eliriael

All the day long doing work, writing over list after list by my own hand, because when Sorontar finished it, by mistake I laid hold of the inkpot and not the sandbox, and almost blotted out the accounts. This put Sorontar into a hurried sort of fit, and I grew worried for his sake, so I said I would copy it again for him.

This morning I went to the Forges to see Lord Vorongwë set out leading a goodly number of people southward for our Lordship, and the Hound amongst them. The Fountain Lord ordered the company to make haste and not to wander from the road, and if anyone went missing he would not give orders to look.

The snow white petals of her royal roses cuddled the tip of her nose as she inhaled their lofty scent. These had always stood apart from their more colorful brethren - not as heady in scent, but still retaining the elegant integrity of the rose. Danel's instructions on the scents of Thargelion came in good time, just as the edges of her lavenders and herbs began to crisp and dry.

A comforting sense of forgetfulness was draped over him like a shroud; drowning out all fears and all questions in a warm and dark embrace. Yet it was not a sense of peace that filled his limited perception, for peace is a state of being that is dependent upon the existence of another, alternative state. Without war or conflict what meaning does the word peace have? Perhaps then oblivion would be correct; an absence of all sensation except darkness. Although despite the emptiness around him, not all was still and silent.

Today I went to the place where the broken officer Estarfin lay, but finding the chamber-door locked, I returned to the Hall of Fire, where I stayed a little while talking with Lord Dolthafaer, who speaks exceeding easy, yet with great authority.

The lavenders poked their pale petals through the arrangement of green herbs, among which they nestled themselves. From their many vantage points around the room, laid over tables, draped over shelves, they spread their light scent throughout the room, welcoming everyone with a peaceful atmosphere as they entered.

A scene of confusion met her eyes as Uilossiel opened the door to the healing room, piles of fresh bandages in her arms. A mangled body lay upon the bed, which she assumed to be Lord Estarfin, and Lady Danel sat very still in the corner of the room, attended by Elvealin. Eliriael and Laurelindo were already hovering over the patient on the bed, while various other lords of Vanimar spoke in hushed tones nearby. She caught a glimpse of Dolthafaer standing in a corner conversing with Lord Anglachelm, but quickly looked away.

Miruial crept into the healing room on the soft padding of her thin periwinkle slippers. The scene before her was clearly the cause of alarm among the steady stream of healers who had come to her at her workshop that day. Glass jars and phials that usually stood at attention in neat orderly rows on their shelves stood in haphazard locations all throughout the room. Several balls of parchment paper lay littered at the base of the red table, where Eliriael sat poised rigidly.

“She cannot be consoled!” the first had announced.

Parnard twisted the paper in his clenched hand. I will be far away by the time you read this – it began apologetically, and ended with the strictness of admonitions not to follow. How was he going to explain this fresh madness to Lord Anglachelm?  He crumpled the letter up.  Lady Danel could do what she liked, as she always did.